


Daily Grind

by ElinorJane



Category: Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Dad Kanan, Ezra and Sabine don't like to slow down, Fluff, Ghost Crew Are Family (Star Wars), Parental Hera Syndulla, Parental Kanan Jarrus, Sickfic, Slice of Life, Space Family (Star Wars: Rebels), mom Hera
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-10
Updated: 2021-01-10
Packaged: 2021-03-13 22:00:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,268
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28660620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElinorJane/pseuds/ElinorJane
Summary: This story doesn’t have much of a plot or a point except that it isn’t easy being teenagers in a small Rebellion against the Galactic Empire.  Ezra and Sabine are tough fighters, but they are still kids after all.  Cue Space-Parenting and fluff.  Takes place sometime before “Brothers of the Broken Horn”.
Relationships: Ezra Bridger & Sabine Wren, Hera Syndulla & Sabine Wren, Kanan Jarrus & Sabine Wren
Comments: 9
Kudos: 49





	Daily Grind

Sabine finished fixing the targeting system of starfighter #1,327—at least, that’s what it felt like—reviewed her work, and slid to the ground. She glanced at the rows of Phoenix Squadron ships parked here and there in the spaceport and gave a brief, heavy sigh. No matter how hard she worked—how hard they all worked and fought—there was always another chore and another problem. And she had the beginnings of a headache. But it was time for the next task.

She gathered her tools and made the long trek to the bay where the Ghost was parked. “Ezra!” she yelled in the general direction of the boarding ramp. “Ezra!”

No sound but the thumps of Kanan unloading crates. After a minute, Ezra stumped out of a doorway in the bay, glowering and looking as displeased as she felt.

“Time for target practice,” she said crisply.

Easier said than done, as it turned out. There wasn’t a good place to set up the target. The cargo hold of the Ghost worked fine—when Kanan wasn’t unloading crates full of relief supplies. The space port bay where the Ghost was parked also worked—when Hera wasn’t inspecting and instructing members of Phoenix Squadron.

After discussing and rejecting a few other ideas, Ezra sighed heavily. “Why don’t we just forget practice for today?”

Sabine shook her head. “Nope, we need to be ready.”

Ezra sighed again and grumbled, “I’m more than ready, what with all that training from Rex and Kanan—”

“Yeah, and there’s no telling when the Imperials will jump us!”

Ezra’s next idea was to reschedule target practice, but Sabine reminded him that he had a relief mission to help with that evening, and she had recon op with Zeb. And they both had chores on the Ghost afterward. The kid then suggested they find some corner in the city to spar, and Sabine squashed that idea as well. If they got caught—it was game over.   
Ezra said they just needed to avoid Stormtroopers, and Sabine argued that any citizen who saw the two of them sparring in an alley might contact Stormtroopers. Ezra had crossed his arms and informed her that nobody paid attention to unattended kids. Sabine retorted that they couldn’t take that chance. And if he hadn’t put his memories of Lothal behind him soon, he’d end up too distracted to think clearly in any situation.

It was a low blow, and she instantly regretted the words. Ezra had flinched, hurt written all over his face before he covered it with a scowl. “Fine!” he’d snapped. “But count me out, and you can go somewhere perfectly safe by yourself. Since you’re such a grown-up,” he’d added as he stalked away.

Sabine snatched up her blasters and jammed them into their holsters. She grabbed the small target and sauntered away without acknowledging Ezra. He was a kid, and some days, he really acted like one.

(A nagging thought in the back of her mind told her she wasn’t behaving any better.)

She reached a spot far outside the city: a shallow valley surrounded by purple hills where she was unlikely to be seen. She set up her target and primed her weapons, pushing away the petulant thoughts that she had really wanted to practice near the Ghost and that it had been forever since she’d practiced with Kanan, and that she was unduly annoyed with every crate in the cargo hold and every member of Phoenix Squadron for kicking her off the ship. And that she hadn’t really wanted to join this group of rebel cells in the first place.

She grabbed a blaster in each hand and fired. Dead center. She fired again and again—dead center, too easy. She backed up even further and fired—no challenge whatsoever. She huffed, sprinted several meters away, and ran at the targets, diving into a somersault and firing both guns as she came up. Still dead center.

She groaned and dropped her blasters on the ground. Kanan always found some way to make blaster practice challenging, even if they were stuck in the spaceport. She’d been good when she joined the crew, but Kanan had helped her get better. And that wasn’t going to happen today, so she might as well suck it up and continue her boring practice.

Three hours later, she was thoroughly annoyed by the repetitive, too-easy routine and in a worse mood than when she’d left the space port. Partly also because she’d started to feel a scratchy ache in her throat, which she decided to ignore.

As she dismantled the target, her comm whistled, and Kanan’s voice came through. “Spectre-5, have you seen Spectre-6?”

“Last time I saw him was in the bay,” she returned.

“Which one?”

She rolled her eyes. “The one where our transport is parked. Where else?”

“Okay,” Kanan said heavily.

“Let me guess: you can’t find him.” She sighed. “On my way back; I’ll help you look.”

***

Ezra really was missing. The crew (and Rex) had scoured the Ghost, the bay where the Ghost was parked, and even the nearby streets and buildings of the space port. They found no trace of him. An idea finally came into Sabine’s mind—one that she should have thought of long before—and she headed for the cockpit. She walked in on Hera bent over the dashboard comm, earnestly questioning Commander Sato. Hera glanced at her as she entered and quickly said, “Please hold, Commander.” She straightened and turned her attention toward Sabine.

“Any luck?” Sabine asked.

“No,” Hera sighed, and Sabine was struck with remorse at how worried she looked. “The other squads haven’t seen him either. Did he seem upset when you saw him last?”

Sabine shifted. “A little, yeah. In fact, I’ve a hunch where he might be, and I was going to go look for him in the city.”

Hera brightened. “I’ll come with you.”

“No, I—” Sabine didn’t really want to explain why she knew she could find him. Her mess, her cleanup. “I’ll find him,” she declared, “it’s no trouble.” She wheeled away before Hera could protest, calling over her shoulder, “I’ll contact you when I do!”

Moments later, Sabine sprinted through the streets of Garel. This city was ridiculously crowded, which made it hard to move; but then again, also helped her blend in. She waited until she was a good way from the space port to begin scouting the alleys. If Ezra’s mind was dwelling on Lothal, there was a good chance he’d go back to the territory he was familiar with to hide.

Her guess paid off; she finally found Ezra in an alley of damp walls and endless puddles. He was hunched in the shadow of a dumpster, and well-concealed from either end of the alley. If Sabine hadn’t been looking for him, she would have walked right past him. She picked her way through the puddles and sank down beside him. “Hey, kid.”

“Go away.” His tone was muffled in his sleeves, but she heard the sharpness.

She sighed and fidgeted a little. “Look, I’m—I’m sorry for what I said. I didn’t mean to hurt you. Really.”

Ezra shifted, his head still buried in his arms.

Sabine sighed and nudged his elbow. “Come on, kid. Let’s get home.”

Ezra didn’t move. In fact, he gave no reaction; it was as if she hadn’t spoken at all. Alarmed, she put a hand on his shoulder. “Ezra?”

Still no response.

“Kanan and Hera are worried; let’s go.”

Ezra shortly, “It’s not home.”

“What?” Sabine demanded. “What are you talking about? The Ghost—”

“I’m not talking about the Ghost!” Ezra finally lifted his head, and his eyes and nose were red. “This place—it’s not home, Sabine!”

“You mean, Garel?” she asked in a low voice.

Ezra nodded.

Sabine gave a silent sigh. Actually, it made sense. Lothal wasn’t much, but the kid had never lived off-world until now. And he’d never lost a home before and been unable to return. It was worse for him than for her; she was used to it, at least. She shifted a little closer to Ezra and clasped her hands around her knees. “I…miss Lothal too,” she said quietly. “Kinda miss being on our own, calling our own shots. The six of us against the world,” she added with a short sigh. “Not great odds, but it seemed easier, somehow.”

“Yeah,” Ezra mumbled.

“It’s not the same here,” she continued, “but the Ghost IS our home. Always will be, no matter where else we end up. Even if we get kicked off for the day thanks to Phoenix squadron and the relief supplies.”

Ezra snickered. “Or fighting with Zeb.”

“Hey, that’s never been my problem.”

He sent her a look that was somehow a cross between a glare and smirk. Sabine chuckled and took his arm again. “Let’s get out of here. It’ll be dark soon, and we’ve got work to do.”

Ezra shifted heavily, leaning his weight onto his right side and grabbing the side of the dumpster to haul himself up.

“Kid, what’s the matter?”

“I…sprained my ankle.”

“By running into an alley full of puddles?” Sabine said flatly. Ezra grimaced, and Sabine sighed and slipped an arm around him. “Come on, I’ll help.”

But when she hauled him on to his feet, he couldn’t put any weight on his left foot. After working out some coordination (last thing they needed was for her to slip and sprain something), they limped forward a few, cautious steps. Sabine shook her head. “No good. We’ll be a target wandering through the streets like this.”

Ezra sighed heavily, and Sabine let him slump back against the wall. No protests, no insisting that he could handle it. Sabine glanced at him as she pulled out her comm and called the Ghost. “Spectre-2, this is Spectre-5. Do you read?”

Hera’s voice came through, level, but a little clipped. “I read you, Spectre-5. News?”

“I found Spectre-6. But he’s sprained his ankle. We can’t get back quickly or without drawing attention to ourselves.”

Kanan’s voice suddenly came through (he must have been in the cockpit when Hera answered): “Copy, Spectre-5; both of you stay put, and I’ll come find you.”

“Copy that. Transmitting coordinates.” Sabine pressed a button on her wrist computer.

“Is Spectre-6 is all right otherwise?” Hera asked.

Hera never really believed that Sabine or Ezra were okay until she saw them with her own eyes. And any other time, Sabine would have rolled her eyes and offered a snarky reply. But now she found the concern oddly comforting. And…she glanced critically at Ezra. He’d wrapped his arms around himself and was staring at nothing. He looked normal, but she couldn’t shake the feeling that something else was wrong. Probably just the homesickness. “Yeah, he’s fine.”

“Okay,” Hera replied. “We’ll see you both soon. Spectre-2 out.”

Sabine switched off her comm and sat down by Ezra.

“Sorry for causing all this trouble,” Ezra mumbled.

She shrugged. “It’s okay.” She hesitated and sighed. “It’s not your fault.”

He didn’t respond. She took a closer look and saw he still had his arms wrapped around himself, hunched tightly and shivering a little. “You cold?”

“Just a bit.”

Sabine hesitated and grimaced; she didn’t want to make the situation awkward. But he did need her help. She slipped an arm around him, bracing for some one-liner, but Ezra simply huddled closer and mumbled, “Thanks.”

Yeah, something was definitely wrong. She found out what a split-second later when he rested his head on her shoulder, and his forehead brushed her neck. He was burning up.

“Hang in there, kid,” she murmured, slipping her other arm around him. And ignoring her own sore throat.

***

As the minutes passed, Sabine watched both sides of the alley for intruders. The two of them were hidden here, but they’d be quite the target if anyone stumbled into the alley. As dusk began to fall, Sabine drew one of her blasters and held it in her hand. The noise of the busy streets faded as the crowds disappeared, and she could hear loud footfalls when someone strayed near (these sounds had her instinctively tensing), and rustles and skittering from other nearby alleys. She listened to the noise, alert for danger, but mentally changed and rearranged her chore schedule, wondering how to fit everything in now.

She cleared her throat a little; the scratchiness was growing worse, and she huddled in on herself.

“You cold?” Ezra mumbled suddenly.

“Just the evening temperatures,” she said.

“Don’t lie to me, Sabine.” His voice wasn’t loud, but there was an odd edge to it.

She cleared her throat again and shifted uncomfortably. “Yeah, a little cold. I’ll be fine.” After a minute’s thought, she said, “Look, I’ll go with Hera to drop off the relief supplies. You stay on the Ghost and rest.”

“No deal,” Ezra returned, even though his tone was hoarse and flat.

“You’re sick!”

“You’re sick too!”

Sabine bit back another sharp reply and drew a long breath through her nose. “Okay, but I’m not that sick. So just keep your mouth shut when Kanan gets here.”

“You didn’t grow up on the streets, so what’s your excuse?”

She huffed and leaned her head against the wall, only jerk it upright at the dampness. “Look, the last thing Hera needs is a setback in the schedule. She’s got her hands full already. And I’m not as sick as you are.” She cleared her throat and said quickly, “Just a scratchy throat. I’ve had worse. I’ll be fine.”

“What about recon with Zeb?” Ezra mumbled. “Thought that was your job too.”

Sabine paused. “I…guess he’ll handle it by himself. Or get someone from Phoenix squadron to help.” Even though that would take someone else away from his or her job… “Or Kanan could go with him.”

“Kanan’s got a meeting with Ahsoka.”

“Ugh.” Sabine huffed heavily and cleared her throat again. “We’ll figure it out, kid. Don’t worry about it.”

Ezra grumbled and huddled closer to her, either too tired and sick to argue or wisely realizing it wouldn’t do any good. He was asleep a few minutes later, which really meant he was sick. The kid was good at pushing through.

She tensed and gripped her blaster as firm footfalls approached the alley. But Kanan’s voice reached her. “Sabine?” 

She relaxed, let out a sigh of relief, and called back, “Yeah, we’re here.”

He strode into the alley a moment later, a silhouette against the pink and purple sky, and reached them quickly. He knelt in alarm when he saw Ezra slumped against her. “What happened?”

“He’s sick—didn’t realize it until after I called you,” Sabine answered. Kanan felt Ezra’s forehead, frowning, and somehow managed to scoop the kid up without waking him. Sabine climbed stiffly to her feet and followed them out of the alley, wrapping her arms around her middle to warm herself.

Hera was waiting on the boarding ramp of the Ghost when they got back, and Sabine spotted Zeb pacing in the cargo bay with Rex leaning against the wall. All three straightened and watched as they approached, and Hera suddenly hurried down the ramp and met them halfway across the hangar. “What did—?”

“He’s okay,” Kanan interrupted, “Just a bit sick and chilled.”

“I’ll get the med kit,” Hera said and strode back to the Ghost, calling over her shoulder, “Put him on the couch so I can wrap his ankle.”

But Sabine hung back as they approached the Ghost. She didn’t really feel like talking to anyone. And so she watched Kanan carry Ezra up the boarding ramp, heard Rex mutter, 

“Poor kid,” and Zeb offer some quiet but good-natured remark about “always finding trouble”. They followed Kanan inside the ship.

Sabine wandered to the piles of crates and set her helmet on the ground. The crates of relief supplies were waiting to be delivered to some outer-rim planet; they should probably have been loaded onto the trolleys already. Sabine started stacking the crates on the trolleys (and silently groaning at her aching muscles), trying to work as fast as possible. She went a little too fast once, and a crate overbalanced itself and landed on her foot with a thud. Sabine yelped, pried the crate off her boot, and winced, flexing her toes to make sure nothing was broken. She could move it, but the whole foot felt bruised.

She heard quiet beeping and turned and saw Chopper rolling toward her. She grabbed the offending crate, heaved it up, and let it crash onto the trolley with a clang. “Figures you weren’t here to welcome us.”

Chopper buzzed indignantly.

“Forget it, Chop. Just teasing. What is it?”

Chopper bleeped a string of information.

“Now, huh?” All but two of the crates had been loaded. Sabine caught up her helmet and put it on. “Go tell Hera these are ready to transport.”

A series of mocking warbles.

“They will be by the time she gets here! Now go!”

Chopper rolled away.

As Sabine set the last crate on the trolleys and activated the anti-grav controls, she heard Hera’s quiet footfalls behind her. Without turning around, she said, “I assume we’re not taking the Ghost.”

“Not this time. We have another transport, in Bay 6.”

“Okay. These are ready to go.”

***

Sabine’s teeth chattered and her legs shook so badly she could hardly stand. She dived—or rather, fell—to escape the blaster fire behind them. Hera grabbed her arm and yanked her up, and they both ran, turning to fire shots at the Stormtroopers rapidly gathering.

“Sabine, set the charges!” Hera yelled. “I’ll cover you!”

The world was spinning around her—and the deafening crack of blaster fire and blinding lights didn’t help—but Sabine quickly set two bombs against the base of a rock wall and set to work wiring them to her detonator. The blast would block their escape. She blinked and blinked again, second-guessing herself, unable to focus on which wire was which, yet her fingers worked by instinct. “Got it!” she croaked. “Run!” She staggered to her feet and stumbled after Hera. A blaster bolt whizzed by her ear so closely that she felt the burn and heat. The world spun and rocked wildly.

“Sabine!” Hera’s voice sounded as though it came from far away. She needed to catch up. She stumbled dizzily forward and pressed the button on the detonator. The boom also sounded as though it came from far away; she was out of range, but she didn’t think she’d run that far. Pieces of debris bounced off her armor and danced around her feet. The noise of blaster fire had stopped. She staggered forward a few steps.

The ground suddenly rose up and smacked her. At least, that’s what it felt like. She was still struggling to figure out what had happened—if maybe the wall had fallen on her or she’d run into a stray Stormtrooper, and her head hurt, badly—when someone yanked on her arm.

“Sabine!” Hera’s voice, suddenly near. Sabine felt her arm slung across Hera’s shoulders; Hera’s other arm slid around her back and pulled her upright. Sabine tottered on disobedient feet, trying to hold her own weight. Their ship stood in a valley not too far ahead, but the journey seemed to take forever.

As they staggered on board, blaster fire shot behind them. Hera unwound Sabine’s arm from her shoulders. “Sit down and strap in!” Hera commanded.

Sabine collapsed in the seat and forced her shaking fingers to flex and curl to buckle the seatbelt. She thumped her head against the back of the seat and listened to the rising roar of the engines as the ship took off and tore through the atmosphere. She heard Hera punching buttons. She shivered; she was so cold and aching. The ship shot into hyperspace.

She heard Hera punch a few more buttons and then get up from the pilot’s seat and march to the back. Sabine opened her eyes and sat up rigidly.

“How long have you been sick?” Hera demanded.

“Just since this afternoon,” Sabine returned. “I’m fine, Hera.”

“You’re not fine—you collapsed in the middle of the mission!”

“Who cares?” Hera opened her mouth to reply, but Sabine continued, “The mission went off well, and neither one of us got killed. That’s what matters.” She crossed her arms. “And I won’t do it again, if that’s any comfort to you.”

Hera planted her hands on her hips. “Won’t do what?—get sick again or collapse in the middle of a mission?”

Sabine turned away and glared at the seats beside her.

“We’ve talked about this. You tell one of us when you’re not well enough to work!”

“Yeah, well, if you haven’t noticed, we’re fighting a war. And it doesn’t give days off!”

An odd mix of anger and sorrow flickered across Hera’s face, but it was gone in an instant. “I’ve noticed. But I never ask you to put yourself in danger, Sabine, or—"

“We had a job to do! Excuse me for not having Jedi foresight, but I didn’t know I was going to collapse!” She was furious with herself; Hera didn’t deserve a sick crew member, not now, not with so much at stake for this Rebellion and all their relief missions and recon runs. “What’s the other option?—bail every time we don’t feel at the top of our game? Think we’d be doing any fighting at all that way?”

“Sabine.” Hera’s voice was firm, commanding, but then she gave a small sigh and spoke quietly. “We’ll discuss this later. The minute we get back to the Ghost, I want you in bed with fever reducers, water, and vitamins.” She half-turned to the cockpit, and then turned back to Sabine. “What are your symptoms?”

Sabine huffed quietly. “Just normal cold stuff.”

“Sabine.”

She heaved a sigh. “Sore throat, stuffiness, aches and chills. And headache.”

Hera gave a single nod. “Add painkillers and decongestant to that list.”

“Yes, Hera,” Sabine muttered. Hera turned away and marched back to the cockpit.

Sabine buried her face in her hands. She shouldn’t have yelled at Hera. All this was her own fault, anyway; so much for cleaning up her mess and trying to fill in for Ezra. Who was sick because of her. Or at least worse because of her. And if anything had gone wrong on that mission—if she’d collapsed sooner, or been too dizzy to wire the charges correctly, or too dizzy to run—Hera might have paid the price.

She thumped her head against the seat again.

As soon as the ship docked, Sabine made a beeline for the exit. She went back to the Ghost as fast as her shaking legs could carry her and straight to her room, ignoring Zeb’s hearty call from the galley. She shut the door and tossed her helmet on the bench under her bunk. She unbuckled her armor pieces one by one and put them away and then clambered up to her bunk without bothering to change into pajamas. She tugged her pillows upright to form a backrest and then crawled under the covers and leaned back, glowering at the speckles of paint on the blankets. Her muscles ached.

Presently, someone knocked on the door. She sighed and stared at the ceiling before shutting her eyes. “Come in.”

The door whooshed open. The tread was too light to be Kanan or Zeb; it must be Hera. Sabine opened her eyes and looked down. Hera held a tray with a steaming bowl on it, along with a glass, a box of tissues, a bowl of pills, and other odds and ends. Hera set the tray on the table under the bunk and glanced up at Sabine. “Can I come up?”

Sabine nodded and scooted her legs toward the wall to give Hera room to sit. Hera climbed up the ladder and perched on the edge of the bed and gave Sabine a small smile. “Well. Things got a little out of control there.”

Sabine brushed her bangs out of her eyes and looked down at her blankets. “Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick?”

“Ezra was down for the count, and someone needed to fill in.” It was getting harder to talk; her throat was getting worse. “I’ve been worse, anyway.”

“I know.” Hera gave short sigh. “And I know you don’t like to slow down or complain or quit. And I do admire your dedication to these missions, to this rebellion. Especially since you weren’t too eager to join up at first.” Hera leaned forward and set a firm hand on Sabine’s shoulder. “But you matter far more to us than these missions. When you’re sick—we will find an alternate plan or someone else to fill in. You know we will.” Then she leaned back and gave Sabine a curious look. “And you have told us before when you’re feeling too sick to run an op. What happened this time?”

Sabine shrugged limply. “Had a lot on my mind, I guess.”

A pause. “Do you want to talk about it?”

Sabine sighed and rubbed her elbows. Did she? She really didn’t want to add to Hera’s concerns. On the other hand, Hera deserved to know why she’d been so off-balance today. After a minute of deliberation, she huffed a short sigh and shook her bangs out of her face. “Just…Ezra being sick, and someone needing to help with the relief mission. And”—she looked up at Hera in alarm—“the fuel re-supply tomorrow—”

“Let me worry about that,” Hera said firmly.

Sabine huffed again and turned away her head so sharply that her bangs fell in her face. “Ugh, that’s the problem! You handle everything—you’ve got your hands full on a normal day, and having two crew members down for the count doesn’t help! Now you’ll have to re-assign and reschedule everything. Not what this Rebellion needs.” After a minute of grouchy silence: “I know we’re doing good work—and I don’t want to quit. But it still feels like…”

“Like we’re alone?”

“Not alone, just…” she huffed, “like we’re too small to really make a difference.”

“I understand, Sabine. But we have to start somewhere. Even if we’re not making a huge dent in the Empire just yet, you never know who will be inspired by our willingness to stand up and fight. Just think about Kanan recruiting you and Zeb and Ezra.”

Sabine nodded without a word. Hera was also silent for a minute.

“You know,” she said at last, and something about the quiet, reflective tone made Sabine look up, “You do so much without complaining—recons, retrievals, ship and weapons maintenance, slicing and fighting—” she glanced down, as though a little ashamed, and looked back up with another small smile. “I don’t thank you enough for that. And I’m sorry.”

Sabine gave a little smile as well. It was a little weird to be praised like this. “Thanks. And I’m sorry for the attitude. And about Ezra—” she added suddenly. “His getting sick—it’s my fault. I got short with him again this morning, and he ran off because of it. Ended up in that damp alley for hours.” She sighed. “I’ll never forgive myself if he gets worse.”

“I don’t think you need to worry about that,” Hera said gently. “He’ll be fine—he’s stronger than when he first joined us, and he’s got plenty of food and medicine in him now. Both of you will rest until you’re better,” she added firmly, and she pushed herself off the bunk and climbed down the ladder. “And now, you need to eat and then take medicine in about an hour.” Hera somehow managed to climb the ladder again with the tray pinned against her side. “All the pills are in this bowl, and I want all the food eaten by the time I return.”

Sabine rolled her eyes. “Yes, Hera.”

But it felt good stay in bed with a snack and a drink, and the soup did help her sort throat (a little). After she ate, she shoved the tray and its dishes onto the shelf in the wall, took the handful of pills, and lay down with a throat lozenge in her mouth.

She awoke who-knows-how-long later, her throat raw again, her nose completely stopped up, and her lungs somehow stiff and tickling at the same time. She pushed herself up and drew a breath—and burst into an explosion of coughs. Great. She groped for the tray on the shelf, hoping to find some water left in the glass, but the tray was gone. Sighing heavily, Sabine pushed herself fully upright and climbed down the ladder—slipping on the final two rungs and falling to the floor with a clang. Great. She stood up and wrapped her arms around herself and trudged to the galley to get herself a drink.

But when the common room doors opened, she saw Kanan sitting on the couch. A second later, she saw Ezra slumped against him, draped in a blanket, and (since the kid was both still and quiet) fast asleep. Kanan looked up as she entered, even though she’d tried to tread softly.

“Is he okay?” Sabine whispered.

Kanan glanced down at Ezra with a brief smile and then back up at her. “He’ll be fine. Just needs some rest.”

“What are you two doing out here?”

“He needs help getting up and down the ladder,” Kanan said. “Easier to just sit out here.”

Sabine nodded. As she approached the couch, the walk to the galley suddenly seemed too long; she dropped onto the cushions and leaned her head back and shut her eyes. A second later, a cold hand on her forehead startled her into sitting upright. “Hey!”

“You’re burning up, Sabine,” Kanan said. “Did you take your temperature?”

“Forgot.” She shut her eyes again.

“Of course.”

Ezra coughed violently just then, and Sabine opened her eyes. Kanan patted the kid’s back. “Take it easy.”

Ezra sat up a little once his attack passed. “Hi, Sabine,” he croaked. “You too, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“You need anything, kid?” Kanan asked.

“Water.”

“I’ll get it,” Sabine said and hopped up—a little too fast, stumbling the rest of the way to the kitchen. Her teeth clattered together as she filled two mugs and grabbed a box of tissues on her way back.

“Here.” She deposited the items on the derjak table and shoved the box of tissue toward Ezra. She dropped back onto the couch and downed all the water in her cup. All the motion did was give her a sudden headache. She sighed and suddenly burst into another round of coughs. Kanan patted her back with his free hand as she nearly hacked out her lungs.

“Told you I should have gone with Hera,” Ezra called hoarsely.

“Shut up.”

Kanan pulled out his comm. “Hera, bring medicine for Sabine. And water and tissues, and all the rest for both kids.” He set a hand firmly on Sabine’s shoulder as she tried to stand. “You’re staying put.”

“Ugh.” But she didn’t protest beyond that, and she slumped against him, tucking her feet underneath her for extra warmth. Kanan settled his arm around her shoulders. “Take it easy. You okay?”

“Yeah.” The cold had already begun to fade. She relaxed a little and shut her eyes. “Yeah, I’m okay.”


End file.
